


The Wrong Side of the River

by TaleasOldasTimeandSpace



Series: Fairy Tales and Hokum [2]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Featuring the Murder Ent in his element, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, The Mummy AU, all hail the Nerd Queen, all hail the garbage king, and the Nerd Queen being an adorkable little nerd, but I can't make them stop, garcy, help me they won't stop flirting, oh look an explosion, they're not supposed to flirt this early in the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace/pseuds/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace
Summary: In which Flynn fails at flirting, but makes up for it by shooting all the things





	The Wrong Side of the River

Garcia was prowling the deck, looking for a place to clean his guns, when he caught sight of Lucy.  She was sitting at a small table, scribbling furiously in a thick notebook, completely oblivious to the world.  He smirked. That was as likely a place as any.

He didn’t _mean_ to sneak up on her, exactly, but it was kind of funny watching her jump when he dropped his pack on the table in front of her.  ‘Sorry, Doctor,’ he said, not really sorry at all.

Lucy shot him a glare.  ‘I’m sure,’ she sniffed, before turning her attention back to her notebook.

Garcia unrolled his pack and sat down across from her.  ‘Do you know we have competition and your sister is playing cards with them in the lounge?’

‘Good.’  Lucy didn’t look up from her notes.  ‘She’ll take them for all they’re worth, and we can put it towards financing our own expedition.’

‘You two are ruthless, aren’t you?’  He shook his head as he started running a brush through the bore of his Remington 14.  He’d wait on assembling it until they were off the boat, but he hadn't had a chance to clean it since before he'd gotten thrown in jail, and he hated neglecting his guns.

Lucy shrugged, and he caught her sneaking a glance at him as he worked.  ‘We're practical. Who are the competition, anyway?’

‘I dunno, looked like a bunch of trigger-happy Americans to me.’

 _That_ got her attention.  ‘I'm _so_ glad we didn’t take up with a trigger-happy American,’ she said dryly, shooting a pointed glance at his armory.

He grinned.  ‘I,’ he said, testing the pump action on the shotgun, ‘am a trigger-happy _Yugoslavian._  But if it makes you feel better, I wanted to be a cowboy when I was little.’

She looked him up and down.  ‘That must have been a _very_ long time ago.’

‘Why Dr. Preston, are you calling me old?’

‘No, just unnecessarily tall.’  Closing her notebook, she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair.  ‘You probably cleared six feet when you were five, didn’t you?’

‘Not at all.  I was a late bloomer.’  He started fitting the parts of the Remington back into their slots in the pack.  ‘But I’m flattered that I made an impression.’

She snorted.  ‘What made an impression are your manners.  They’re appalling.’

‘Still angry about that kiss?’  Biting his lip to hide his smile—judging from her narrowed eyes, he wasn’t that successful—he started on his Smith & Wesson 1917 revolvers.  It was going to be such a relief to have the comforting weight of them in his shoulder holsters again.

‘If you want to call it a kiss,’ she said with a careless shrug.  ‘I’ve had better.’

‘You wound me.’

‘You’ll live.  What _is_ all of this?’  She poked at the cartridges for the Remington.  ‘Are you planning on fighting our way to Hamunaptra?’

‘You said yourself that the desert is hostile.  Hand me twelve of those, would you?’ he asked, pointing to the .45 cartridges.  ‘Thanks.  No harm in being prepared,’ he continued as he began thumbing bullets into the revolvers.  ‘There’s a reason most people don’t come back.’

She let out a groan, scrubbing a hand over her face.  ‘Oh, no, please don't tell me you believe in that curse of a mummy nonsense.’

‘You don't?’  He gestured to the lounge with the revolver he was loading.  ‘You'll find many people around here do.’

‘Yes, and there's a man back in the States who's convinced the pyramids are, are— _landing platforms_ for Martian spaceships.  Just because people believe something doesn't make it true.’  She started waving her notebook for emphasis.  Garcia was glad he was on the other side of the table, otherwise she’d probably end up clocking him in the nose.  ‘I'm a historian, Mr. Flynn, not a sensational novelist.  Yes, I believe there are things out there we can't explain, and yes, I like a good spooky bedtime story as much as the next person, but that doesn't mean I believe a mummy's going to come to life and what, steal my soul?’

‘You forget, I was there.  And no, I didn’t see any mummies—or Martians, for that matter—but there _is_ something out there, Doctor.  Something very bad.’  He finished loading the second revolver and closed the chamber with a click.

‘But there’s something amazing out there, too!  I mean, yes, the treasure of the pharaohs and everything, which would be an incredible historical find just by itself, but there's so much _more.’_   Her eyes were sparkling, just the idea of the potential history at Hamunaptra putting a wide, infectious smile on her face, one he couldn't help but return.  ‘Personally, I’m hoping to find one of the most famous books in history—the book of Amun Ra.  It’s said to contain all the secret incantations of the priests of the Old Kingdom, and all my research leads me to believe that it’s hidden somewhere in Hamunaptra.  It’s fascinated me since I was a little girl; it’s why I became a historian in the first place.’

‘And I'm sure the fact it's made out of solid gold means nothing to you.’

Impossibly, her grin got wider.  She almost seemed _proud_ of him.  ‘You know your history.’

‘Correction.’  He held up a finger.  ‘I know my treasure.’

Her smile dimmed, but didn't disappear.  ‘There are worse reasons to learn,’ she said, lifting a shoulder.  Opening her notebook, she started scribbling in it again.  After a few minutes of companionable silence, she peeked at him through her lashes.  ‘By the way, strictly out of curiosity—why did you kiss me?’

He shrugged, most of his attention on his pair of M1911 semi-automatic Colts.  He preferred the power and smoother action of the revolvers, but the 1911s were reliable backups.  ‘Seemed like a good idea at the time. I _was_ about to be hanged, if you recall.’

Her face shuttered, and he could practically _see_ the frost spread across the table between them, despite the warm night.  She closed the notebook with a snap and stood.  ‘Well, Mr. Flynn, is been a long day, and I'm tired.  I believe I will retire now.’

He twisted to watch her stalk away.  ‘Goodnight?’ Strange. He'd thought they'd been having a nice chat.

A muffled yelp from a pile of cargo tied near the entrance to the lounge drew his attention away from Lucy's abrupt departure.  Sliding the magazine of the 1911 into place, he crept forward.  There was a rustle, then silence.  He counted to five, reached forward and snagged what felt like an arm, hauling them forward into the light.  Their hat fell to the deck, revealing coppery hair and a belligerent expression.  Oh, that was _just_ what he needed to make his night complete.

‘Flynn!  Fancy running into you!  It’s been too long.’

‘Well, if it isn’t my old pal, Emma.’  He cocked his gun and rested the muzzle on her forehead.  ‘I think I’ll kill you.’

Emma's eyes went wide and pleading.  ‘No, don’t! Think of my children!’

Garcia snorted.  ‘You don’t have any children.’

‘Someday I might.’  Somehow, she manage to squeeze out a tear.  

‘You don’t _like_ children.’

She dropped the terrified act and slumped back against the cargo.  ‘It was worth a shot.’

He relaxed his grip on the trigger, but didn’t put the gun away.  ‘You’re the one leading the Americans to Hamunaptra, aren’t you, Emma?  Let me guess—you’ll take them halfway across the desert, then leave them to rot.’

‘That _would_ be a beautiful scheme, but unfortunately they only paid half up-front.  I get the other half when we get back to Cairo.’  She sighed dramatically and stuffed her hands in her pockets.  ‘Looks like you’re stuck with me for the whole trip.  Just like old times.  What about you?’ she asked, jerking her chin at him.  ‘Hamunaptra didn't have what you were looking for, so why go back?’

He nodded to Lucy, who was lingering by the horses in their temporary stalls.  ‘See that woman over there?  She saved my life.  I owe her.’

Emma put a hand to her chest.  ‘My, my, my, Flynn.  Moving on already?  Lorena and Iris have only been dead what, five years?’

Garcia smiled, but there was no humour in it.  Slinging an arm around her shoulders, he steered her to the railing as she snickered to herself.  ‘Delightful as always, Emma.’  Her snickers turned to an outraged squawk as he tipped her over the railing and into the Nile.  

As he turned back to his weapons, a trail of wet footprints caught his eye.  Emma couldn't have gotten on the boat again that quickly—the fact that he could hear her flailing in the water and screaming about what she'd do to him when she was back aboard was a dead giveaway—which could only mean they'd been boarded by a third and probably hostile party.  He grinned. _Finally_ his night was looking up.

* * *

 _‘Sacred Stones, Sculpture and Aesthetics, Socrates, Seth Volumes One, Two,_ and _Three…’_    Lucy glared at the ceiling of her cabin.  It wasn't _fair_.  It wasn't _that_ good of a kiss, especially when there wasn't anything behind it (not that she _wanted_ there to be anything behind it.  It wasn't like she was _interested)._  There was absolutely no reason for the memory to be keeping her awake.  

And _yet._

She turned on her side and transferred her glare to the wall—hull?—as she continued muttering titles under her breath.  Her normal trick of reciting the catalogue of the Museum of Antiquities’ library to help her sleep was failing spectacularly, but she was nothing if not stubborn.  

She’d been fine the night before.  Preparations for the last-minute trip wore her out enough to ensure she was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow, and she always slept well the night before an expedition.  But now they were on their way, and there was nothing more for her to do but let the boat carry her down the Nile and obsess about a kiss from a convict.

Maybe she should get dressed again and join Jiya in the lounge.  She wasn’t as good at cards as her sister, but she could hold her own.  And the competition was probably three sheets to the wind now, anyway, making her skills more formidable.  She huffed a frustrated breath, flopped onto her other side—

—and screamed as she came face-to-face with a man in black robes with tattoos on his weathered cheeks.  He slapped a hand over her mouth and scowled, pressing a knife to her face with the other—no, wait, that wasn’t a knife, it was a, a _hook,_ what was he, some kind of _pirate—_

‘Where is the map?’ he growled, moving the hand covering her mouth to grip her neck and pull her upright.

Map?  _W_ _hat_ map?  What was he—oh, right.  ‘There,’ she gasped, pointing a shaky finger at the table, where the map rested beside her journal.

He hauled her over, keeping his hook pressed to her cheek as he released her neck to snatch up the map, crumpling it in his fist and shoving it in his robe.  Her pained whine at his callous disregard for the delicate artifact was cut off when he resumed his grip on her throat.  ‘And the key?’ he demanded.

Her mind was racing, but this time she couldn’t figure out what he was talking about.  She didn’t have anything that remotely resemble a key, unless he wanted to use one of her hairpins as a lockpick.  ‘What key?’ she asked helplessly.

He tightened his grip on her throat.  ‘Where is the key?’ he repeated.

Despite the danger of her situation, she felt a spike of irritation.  She would _give_ him his stupid key if she knew what he was talking about.  She’d already given him the map, hadn’t she?  It wasn’t like she wanted to die for a non-existent artifact.  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’

He pulled his hook back, possibly to kill her, when her door slammed open and Flynn charged through, a gun in either hand.  With her attacker distracted, Lucy snatched up the candle from the table and jammed it into his face.  He let go of her with a shriek.  She barely paused to grab her journal before dashing past Flynn to the corridor beyond.  Flynn seemed determined to empty his pistols into the tattooed man, and as far as Lucy was concerned, he was welcome to do so.

She’d nearly reached the end of the corridor when a horrible realization struck her.  ‘The map!’  Turning, she ran straight into Flynn’s chest.  ‘He has the map!  I need to—’

‘Relax, Doctor.’  Flynn gently turned her around and ushered her forward, emptying the spent casings from the revolvers as he followed.  ‘It’s all up here, remember?’  He tapped his temple.  ‘We’ll be fine.’

‘Oh, yes, that is _such_ relief.’  She came to the end of the corridor and froze.

The boat was  _chaos._

The creepy man from Lucy’s cabin had friends.  Lots of them.  Anyone with a gun was shooting it, with varying degrees of accuracy.  Half the boat was on fire, and the other half was filled with people who were trying to escape—or kill each other.

‘Hold this, would you?’  Flynn dropped his pack into her arms, and she staggered from the weight.  He started feeding new bullets into his revolvers, blithely ignoring the madness around them.  Lucy watched with morbid fascination as a line of bullet marched across the wall toward his head, until she finally grabbed his shoulder holster and jerked him to the side.  A bullet buried itself in the wall where his head had been.  He blinked into space for a moment, then grinned at her.  ‘Thank you kindly, Doctor,’ he said.  ‘Follow me.’  Bringing both guns up, he started moving across the deck, firing at anyone who got in his way.

Lucy shook her head.  He was having far too much fun.  She trailed after him in a crouching run, trying to make herself as small a target as possible and fumbling with Flynn’s pack and her journal.

By the time they reached the railing, Flynn had run out of bullets again.  Lucy took the opportunity their pause provided to stuff her journal into his pack.  As she glance around the boat, trying to figure out an escape, she caught sight of Jiya at the far end of the deck.  She seemed to be yelling at a bunch of cowboys who had barricaded themselves behind some of the cargo.  Before she could wave Jiya over, a man _who was on fire_ burst from the corridor, heading straight for Jiya.  Lucy screamed.

She didn’t know if she’d gotten their attention or not, but the cowboys turned and emptied their guns into the man, sending him over the side of the boat.  Lucy dropped Flynn’s pack and started for her sister, but Flynn caught her arm.

‘Can you swim?’ he asked.

Could she _swim?_  What kind of question was _that_ _?_  She didn’t have time for small talk, not when her sister was in danger and they were all on the verge of a fiery _death._  ‘Of course I can swim,’ she hissed venomously, ‘but is this _really_ the time?’

‘Trust me,’ Flynn scooped her up in his arms, ‘this is definitely the time.’  It wasn't at all an unpleasant sensation, but before she could begin to appreciate it—

—he tossed her over the side.

She hit the water with a splash and a gasp.  Instinct was the only thing that got her moving for the shore, narrowly avoiding Flynn's pack as he tossed it after her.  She snagged one of the straps before it could sink to the bottom of the Nile.   _He'd better be grateful for this,_ she thought darkly.

‘Lucy!’

‘Jiya?’  Lucy's feet hit silt and she slogged her way to shore, nearly going under again when Jiya tackled her.  ‘Jiya! Thank goodness, I saw you with the burning man.  Are you alright?’

Jiya laughed.  ‘I'm fine.  You know I've had worse than this.  What about you?’

‘I’m—’  The boiler room of the boat exploded, making them both jump.  Lucy blinked at the carnage.  ‘I do believe Flynn saved my life.’

‘You're welcome.’  The gravelly voice made Lucy jump again, and she swung the pack.  Flynn caught it before she could break his ribs.  ‘I think we're even on the lifesaving now, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to kill me yourself.’

She laughed.  It was slightly hysterical, but it was better than crying.  ‘No promises.  So what do we do now?  We've lost everything!  My books, all the equipment…’

Flynn opened his mouth, but a shout cut him off.

‘Hey, Flynn!’  Across the river, the redhead she'd seen Flynn talking to earlier was waving her arms.  ‘Looks to me like I've got all the horses!’ she continued in an obnoxious sing-song.

Flynn opened his mouth again, but Jiya beat him to it.  ‘Hey, Emma!’ she yelled back.  ‘Looks to me like you're on the wrong side of the river!’  She smirked as she watched Emma throw a tantrum, before turning to catch Lucy and Flynn's stares.  ‘What?’ she asked with a shrug.  ‘I caught her cheating at cards.’

Flynn shook his head.  ‘Ruthless.’

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie, the main reason I cast Emma as Beni is because the idea of her dying alone in the dark, eaten alive by scarabs fills me with unholy joy. Besides, she's a little stinkweed.
> 
> I spent way too much time researching guns and debating which ones Flynn would prefer. Another thing to go in my NSA file.
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://taleasoldastime-andspace.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
